


Endless, Nameless

by CazBunny



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, All Routes Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Byleth got a cellphone, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gore, It's basically the modern day but without guns because swords are sexier, Major character death - Freeform, On Hiatus, Other relationship TBD, Slow Burn, Sothis watches trashy TV, Trauma, War Phase, dimileth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazBunny/pseuds/CazBunny
Summary: In the modern day, Byleth serves as an assistant to her father, the newly named professor at Garreg Mach. After a childhood of isolated mercenary work, the position proves more difficult than she expected as unprecedented friendships and feelings blossom. Once events unfold and secrets unravel within the Officer's Academy, Byleth finds herself caught in the crossfire, with only her wits and a magical gremlin Goddess to guide her through it.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. Violet

It was not that Byleth hated Garreg Mach. It was just that she didn’t much care for it, not when her stay was indefinite and the point of it unknown. Her father hated it, spoke of his hatred of it every second away from prying ears, but he refused to leave.

 _"We **can’t** leave. She won’t **let** me,” _he would say of Rhea, who’s eyes followed Byleth wherever she went. Of course, when Byleth asked why Rhea wouldn’t let them leave, her father would grunt, _“It’s complicated,”_ and then fall into a silent, grumpy stupor, which could only be broken by a few long, hard swigs from a bottle. Byleth never pushed. It wasn’t her place.

So, though she longed to return to the starry nights and fluid motion of mercenary life, she kept her head down and did as she was bid.

Not a student, but not a teacher either, she was made an assistant to her father, newly named Professor, but bearing the brunt of all his work. Most of the time, he was away on assignment, his position a cover for the dark, bloody things the Archbishop required of him that Byleth was forbidden to assist with. And when he wasn’t away, he often spent his nights drinking and his days fishing away the hangover instead of preparing for class. His lectures were abysmal, often given seated and from behind the darkness of a pair of perpetually askew sunglasses. A mug of unidentifiable contents was never far from his grasp.

At first, the students had mocked him with whispers behind cupped hands and callously exchanged glances, but, eventually, they developed better manners. Of course, it had taken a rather thorough demonstration on her part of the consequences of their rudeness before they really grasped the whole respect thing. To them, she was a mystery, the daughter of the legendary Blade Breaker and his assumed lackey. Their chattering about her was of no consequence. She did not care enough to see them change her mind. 

Now, Byleth sat hunched over her father’s desk, reading through paper after paper of tactics to address the hypothetical situation her father had provided the students. Her hand cramped from scrawling so many notes. Once, back when this had all began, she hadn’t bothered to address the issues within the student’s papers, only marked them as failing, but she knew better now. They would not learn if they did not know what they had done wrong. 

Before he had left, her father had mused her hair and told her the added effort was a waste of time. She had nodded, silent and resolute as always, and he had smiled, saying, “Sometimes, I don’t know how you’re my kid.”

And Sothis, annoying little ragamuffin that she was, had piped up inside Byleth’s skull to say, “Sometimes, I don’t know how you keep your job when _we_ do all your work!”

If she had not been faced with a mountain of papers to grade, Byleth might have smiled, but there was too much to be done to waste energy on such a thing.

After two months of grading papers, she had become adept at determining how much time her father’s hair-brained assignments would cost her. Given the level of detail he had requested and the number of students in the class, she would probably be late for dinner. Not that it mattered. When her father was away, she took dinner in her quarters, breaking bread away from the whispers and prying eyes of her contemporaries. 

From her pocket, Byleth fished a pair of earbuds, so old the wires had frayed, from her pocket to a chorus of Sothis’ groaning distress.

“Please, just once, can you listen to something that isn’t angry screaming and moaning?” Sothis whined as Byleth slid the earbuds into each ear. When she hit play, Sothis fell into glaring silence beneath tremulous chords. Byleth may not have understood the phone part of the cellphone her father had procured, but the audio functions made perfect sense. She’d had an MP3 player since she’d swiped it from a former mercenary a few years back, but it had been outdated even then. She was happy for the upgrade and the world of music that was now available to her.

Sothis disagreed. She didn’t possess quite the same appreciation for grunge as Byleth.

As the scribbled words of pressured students filled her eyes, the minutes ticked. Twice, Sothis suggested a break, assumedly wanting to catch up on the latest of her trashy reality show _Fodlan of Love_ , but Byleth refused. Grading papers was her only catharsis. There was nothing else for her to do here unless she wanted to suffer the attentions of the Archbishop, which her father had advised against.

Only when her phone buzzed to life, bearing a message from her father, did she take pause. Sothis craned over her shoulder, half-floating, half-sitting, to read the text.

_Just got in2 Leicester dont miss me 2 much_

Texting was still new to her, but she was a fast learner. A few keystrokes later and a blurb of blue conveyed her response, an understated “k” followed by a thumbs-up emoji. Sothis’ groan of disgust echoed, but the girl said nothing else. Once, Sothis had complained endlessly of Byleth’s dull demeanor and had insisted the next text be penned by her own, incorporeal hand. The resulting message had nearly given Jeralt a stroke. They had not spoken of it since.

Byleth returned to grading, shifting through paper after paper until only a handful remained. She was halfway through the last of five when a shadow fell under the doorframe and a series of three, rapt knocks sounded over her music.

At the intrusion, Sothis perked up from her wilted position on the edge of the desk and clapped her hands together, saying, “Finally! Something to do!”

Byleth ignored the girl’s antics, paused her music, removed her earbuds, and bid the caller enter. When he came into view, Sothis immediately took to cooing over one of the few students she had designated as “interesting.”

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Next in line for the throne of Faerghus. Dedicated. Sincere. Kind. And in very real danger of failing the class. 

That being said, Byleth had no real inclinations one way or another regarding his grade. If she wanted, she could have borne serious ill-will towards him, given the fact that he and two of his peers had ultimately been the cause of her and her father’s prolonged stay at Garreg Mach. Instead, she chose to appreciate his honest demeanor and disciplined work ethic that displayed itself in the respect he gave her father and the answers he provided in class, even if they were incorrect.

“Professor,” Dimitri said as he stepped through the door, “I—”

And he came to an abrupt stop, his lanky form jerking from the suddenness of his halt and his uneven bangs blustering across his brow. As his face darkened into distinct splotches of flustered discontent, a paper crinkled helplessly in his fist. 

Byleth only stared, her hand stilling mid-word. Sothis laughed into her palm and, as if he might overhear her, whispered, “He’s a bit of a mess, isn’t he?”

 _Yes,_ Byleth responded, her internal thoughts just as monotone as her external voice. Sothis’ eyes canted in bemusement as the boy before them adjusted to the situation presented to him.

“I apologize,” he said. “Do you know the whereabouts of your father?”

Byleth bent her head back to her work, finishing her written sentence and marking the paper as a worthy, but ultimately futile effort. She said, “Left on assignment. You just missed him.”

“Ah, alright.”

Dimitri’s nervous energy remained until he questioned, “Perhaps, you would be able to assist me?”

“In?”

She did not look up from her grading. She leaned her head against her hand, kept it propped there.

“The comments Professor Jeralt left on my last exam are rather… difficult to parse. I was hoping—”

“I wrote those.”

She laid her pen down as she looked to him. His fine eyebrows were knit together in blatant surprise.

“Pardon?”

“I grade all the assignments. Father is far too busy.”

His expression slacked. She gestured for him to sit with her free hand. As his chair screeched against the floor, she asked, “What has confused you?”

“Well, it is this comment here,” he said, laying the paper atop her stack and pointing with a gloved finger. There was no need to direct her gaze. There was only one comment on the paper, written in her own, looping script, _Reasoning is illogical and rash. Battles are not won by valor alone._

“And?”

It was not her intention to be dismissive, but it was her nature. In her head, Sothis sighed and said, “Would it kill you to be a little bit nicer?”

Byleth thrummed her fingers against her skull in response. Sothis huffed and crossed her arms. Dimitri, unaware of that he had the girl’s support, explained, “I derived this strategy from that of Lord Samson’s at the Battle of the Border that boasted a similar situation to the one provided by Professor Jeralt. It was a complete success for the Knights of Faerghus and led to the cessation of immediate hostilities with Sreng—”

He went on to explain the particulars of the battle, but Byleth found herself lost to the details in favor of the resonance of his voice. In all of her years, which she guessed to be somewhere in the range of sixteen and nineteen, she doubted she had ever heard someone speak so passionately about something so inconsequential. If not for her mercenary rearing, she might have been swayed. There was a lot of potential within him, but it was misplaced. Perhaps, though, he just needed to come into form with it just as he still needed to grow into his shoulders. Yes, someday, this boy would—

A pair of mint-painted fingers snapped inches from her nose. Sothis’ jeering voice followed the snap. “Earth to Byleth? He’s done talking and you’re just staring with those fish eyes of yours.”

And Dimitri, his pert mouth in a sloping scowl, said, “Byle… er, Lady Byleth?”

Ignoring Sothis’ bark of laughter at the notion of her ever being mistaken for nobility, Byleth said, “Byleth. And Samson’s strategy is remembered because it is a rarity.”

She shuffled through the pile, looking for a snatch of distinct handwriting and ignoring the weight of Dimitri’s full attention.

“Here, from today’s exam,” she said, finally pulling her target from the batch. “Your peer possesses an excellent understanding of the field and the limitations posed.”

Dimitri took the paper from her, but his face immediately soured. He handed the paper back to her without reading and said, “While I can appreciate Claude’s ingenuity, I cannot abide by his scheming.”

She folded Claude’s exam back into the pile with a shrug.

“His scheming produced the only plausible solution so far, even if it is unsuccessful.”

Dimitri crossed his arms. The regalia of his uniform jangled and, not for the first time, she wondered how the students could stand the gaudy nature of their uniforms. She had been offered one upon her arrival, but had rejected it outright, refusing to conform to unsaturated primary colors and ungodly, dangling accessories; she much preferred the simple gray of her father’s company and the easy range of motion it provided. 

Though, now that she thought about it, on Dimitri, the uniform did not seem a cruel joke like it did on the others. Then again, all the House Leaders wore their uniforms well. Perhaps it was an element of status.

“Just once, for once in your life, could you please think interesting thoughts? I’m so sick of your musings on class and status and _blah, blah, blah_ —"

Sothis’ voice grew shrill as it fell into mockery like a child’s teasing.

 _I can’t think when your voice gets like that,_ Byleth thought. Sothis fell into stony silence but stuck her tongue out in defiance. 

“Have you reviewed my submission yet?” Dimitri asked.

Byleth shook her head.

"You will fail.”

Though his expression was largely impassive, there was a flicker of taut skin along his jawline and a growing tension around his stark eyes. Whatever cues that might have been gleaned from these small features were lost on Byleth. She could read the signs, but not decipher their meaning. Sothis said, softly, “Explain it to him.” 

Sometimes, Byleth found herself thankful for Sothis’ presence. Before Sothis, social interactions had been a confusing minefield of unintended slights and confusion. 

So, Byleth said, “You are too idealistic. The solutions you propose, they rely too much on the individual merits of your soldiers and ignore the sacrifices that would inevitably come of them.”

Dimitri’s fingers dug into his arms, dimpling the stiff material of his uniform, when he protested, “The knights of Faerghus are the most decorated in all of Fodlan.” 

Her father had always said the nobles of Faerghus so enamored with the legends of the past that they mistook every other man as the second coming of the hero king. How could a boy raised with such notions ever understand that battles were rarely ever won on mettle and merit alone? Yet, there was something about him, a harshness she recognized from the resolute opponents of her greatest battles and a subtle raggedness about the entire subject, that whittled at the edge in her voice.

“Maybe so, but even the best soldiers die.”

Dimitri scowled, so openly and darkly that Byleth stiffened for a sour rebuke, but he only sighed into a smaller frown and said, “I respect your expertise as a mercenary, but I believe your time among thieves may have undermined your evaluation of chivalry.”

The insinuation did not offend. It was a fair evaluation of her position. Byleth shuffled through her papers again, plucking the appropriate one and handing it to him.

“It is your choice to continue to explore these strategies, but this is where they lead. Idealism is not always beneficial.”

Dimitri was silent as he read. He scowled again. He didn’t look at her when he asked, “Edelgard submitted this?”

His voice was stiff, nearly locked in his throat. As she nodded, Sothis hummed.

 _What?_ Byleth thought.

“Nothing, nothing. Just… a feeling,” Sothis said. She shifted closer to Dimitri, squinting at him. His blue eyes, like the flowers that often bloomed alongside the roads in Adrestia, were hooded and his mouth drawn into a thin line.

 _Sothis_ , Byleth thought in warning as the girl reached out towards Dimitri’s face. Sothis scowled, hand frozen mid-reach, but she retreated.

“He just seems so familiar all of the sudden,” Sothis mumbled.

_Familiar?_

Sothis didn’t answer. She folded her arms over her chest and began to tap at her mouth with her pointer finger. Byleth watched for a moment, before turning her attention to Dimitri. Later, she would question Sothis, but, for now, she had to deal with Dimitri.

Dimitri, totally unawares, said, “You marked this faulty as well.”

“My markings are subjective,” she said. “I do not believe in no-win scenarios.” 

Dimitri crossed his arms once more. A moody edge set his face in a frown.

“Your father only assigns no-win scenarios.”

Her phone buzzed against the wood, and, before she could glance at it, Sothis said, “Speak of the devil.”

Then, the girl shifted to hover over the phone and her face wrinkled. 

“Another awful image from the looks of it.”

On his last assignment, her father had taken several blurry, nearly incomprehensible selfies in whatever environment he found himself in with captions that never helped to clarify where the hell he was. He sent them at random, unpredictable intervals throughout his time away.

Viewing the latest of her father’s poor attempts at photography, a fuzzy image of the top of his head and a cloudy sunset with the caption _pretty_ , she said, “My father takes pleasure in making you suffer.”

“Do you as well?” Dimitri asked

She typed off a response to her father, another thumb emoji with an accompanying bespectacled smiley face, and said to Dimitri, “Not when I have to grade your responses.”

To her utter shock, a smile twitched his lips.

“I suppose I would feel much the same way,” he said as Sothis raved, “Am I going mad or did _you_ just make someone smile? Like genuinely smile? And not out of a warped reaction to fear?”

Byleth blinked lazily while she dismissed the girl in her mindscape. If Sothis were not such a snoop, Byleth might have thought how the sight of another’s smile warmed the enclosed hollow of her ribs. And how happiness suited Dimitri. Softened him.

Another knock, lighter and faster than Dimitri’s had been, sounded at the door, and then the door burst open without further warning and with a sing-songing, “Hello!”

Manuela, the former songstress who Byleth had only had the displeasure of meeting once, approaching the desk with the gait of a gazelle on amphetamines.

“Ah, Byleth, I have been looking everywhere for you!” she said and then she turned on Dimitri with a gasp. “I see the young Prince has been keeping you entertained!”

“More entertained than usual,” Sothis grumbled. Then, her mouth stretched wide in a yawn as she flexed her arms over her head. It had been seven hours since her last nap, practically a new record.

“Professor Manuela,” Dimitri said, nodding to the songstress as she beamed at him, a finger poised at the point of her smile. Gathering his crumpled paper and straightening his uniform, he said, “This has been enlightening, Byleth. I hope to speak with you again on these matters soon.”

When he stood, he inclined his head to Manuela with a humble, “Professor,” and then went on his way. Byleth watched him leave and hoped Manuela might trail after him.

She didn’t. She turned on Byleth and practically chirped, “A peach that one.”

Byleth said nothing. Manuela was undeterred. She flopped down into the seat previously occupied by Dimitri and lounged, tossing her arm over the back of the chair and fanning herself with a hand.

"Ah, well, not one for chit chat, are you?” she said. “Your father says you are smart, smarter than any of the students here. And that you are rather talented with faith magic.”

Byleth tried to imagine the scenario in which her father would ever willingly interact with Manuela, who he had called a _“preening harpy”_ immediately upon meeting, and the only one that made any sense involved alcohol. She hoped they hadn’t slept together. That was the last thing she needed. Sothis hummed in agreement.

“My father says a great deal,” Byleth said. Any inkling of emotionality that had crept into her voice throughout her conversation with Dimitri had vanished.

“Yes, well, I find myself in need of assistance. I have some students who have asked for some extra assistance, but I simply do not have the time to see to them myself. I was hoping perhaps that—”

“I do not teach.”

Manuela laughed through her nose and waved her hand dismissively. Her laugh was forced and shrill, a poor imitation of the tinkling laughter attributed to those of the noble class. Byleth’s mouth twitched into a muted approximation of a frown.

“No, goddess, no. You’re hardly qualified for that—”

“And you are?” Sothis interjected, but her voice lacked its usual ire. It seemed the long hours awake were finally getting to her.

“I was hoping that you might be able to act as a tutor for these students.”

In her mercenary days, Byleth had spent a great deal of time working with the inept hires until they got the hang of the weapon they claimed to have proficiency in, which was its sort of tutoring. But those were grown fighters and she had learned just as much as she had taught them. She had no interest in dealing with high-class, snot-nosed brats, as her father would say. So, Byleth said, “My father keeps me busy.”

“I was afraid you might say that,” Manuela mumbled, laying a hand to her chest. Her expression drooped from the manicured display of affluence into a small frown. She said, “Child, it is important that you know Rhea has requested this of you.” 

Byleth did not smile, but she was tempted, despite the revelation of the Archbishop’s involvement. Her father would _not_ be happy to hear that the Archbishop had pulled rank yet again. In fact, he would be pissed.

“Are the students aware?”

Manuela shook her head and her expression lifted.

"Not yet, but I am sure they will be more than cooperative.”

Byleth doubted that. Most of the students she had met were too concerned with their nobility to even give her the time of day.

“How many?” she asked.

At her side, Sothis’ head dipped and then the girl jerked upright, blinking with wild eyes.

_Long day?_

Sothis’ glare was piercing, but she didn’t respond as Manuela said, “Just three for now, but I may send more your way if you prove adept.”

Byleth rested her chin on her hand and stifled a yawn that spread like a virus from Sothis.

“Names?” Byleth asked.

“Ah, Edelgard von Hrresveg, I believe your father has her in class, and Dimitri, who you seem well acquainted—”

Manuela’s voice took on a suggestive edge, but the insinuation was lost on Byleth. Sothis snorted.

“And Hilda Goneril. She didn’t request extra help, but she certainly needs it.”

Byleth nodded. She could certainly handle Edelgard and Dimitri; they were both strong-spirited and motivated. As for Hilda, whatever her case, Byleth would adapt. She always did.

“Splendid, I’ll inform them straight away and you can get right to work with them,” Manuela said, standing quickly. “I would stay to chat, but I have a promising dinner date.”

The news was no surprise. It was well known, even by someone as far removed as her, that Manuela was always on one ill-fated date or another. Byleth did not wish her well, only waved lamely as the woman turned to say goodbye with a chirping, “Ta-ta!”

The sound of the door slamming had never been quite so sweet. At the sound, however, Sothis jerked awake with a sharp gasp.

 _You can go to sleep if you want,_ Byleth thought. _This isn’t going to get any more interesting._

“I… yes, I think I will,” Sothis said and then she faded into whatever nothingness she dwelled in while asleep.

In the resulting silence, Byleth retrieved her headphones and queued up her music. Once the tortured vocals of her favorite band sounded, she texted, _rhea gave me job._

A split second later, her father responded, _u fucking serious._

Fully alone for the first time in the cavern of the empty lecture hall, Byleth loosed a tiny little laugh at her father’s text. It echoed in off the tiled floors and walls before subsiding beneath the relentless scritch-scratch of Byleth's pen. 

* * *

If Byleth were to ask, Sothis would say she did not remember the things she dreamt. But she did. She could never forget.

They were awful things, impossible things. Mewling infants without a scrap of flesh to cover their faces. Grown men with inside-out throats like beef gristle and scarlet staining their fair skin. Seafoam haired women with torn-open bellies and deflated skulls. Pointy-eared children spouting viscera from severed limbs. A verdant field of white roses turned to a mass grave of ash and ruin. Fair-haired, sharp-eyed figures standing amid the gore, standing like victors of a war with no winners.

And the bones. All the bones. Yellowing bones and quivering bones and bloody bones and broken bones and screaming bones and stolen bones. All these images, these ravaged people, these lonely bones, but what were they? What did they mean?

Sothis never knew. There were only the dreams, devoid of any meaning beyond sheer terror.

When she awoke, it was always in a panic, but Byleth didn’t know that. Sothis made sure Byleth didn’t know that. She panicked in silence, within her own thoughts that were kept shielded from Byleth’s. Their souls may have been connected by some unseen thread, but their minds were not, at least, not reciprocally.

But that night, after the usual parade of gruesome horrors, Sothis awoke into the blackness of Byleth’s room at midnight with a word like magic, like an answer to all the madness, zinging in her mind: _Zanado._


	2. Outshined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth teaches her father's students a lesson.

It had been three weeks since Byleth’s discussion with Manuela and two weeks since she had taken the three fledgling students under her wing. Hilda, she genuinely liked, despite her best efforts otherwise. The Goneril heir was the laziest, most insufferable person she had ever met, but her breezy nature and general sweetness were undeniable. Hilda had a magnetic charm and even Byleth was not spared of it. 

Her other pupils were a different story. Edelgard was a fast learner, but unusually cold. Byleth did not dread her time with the future emperor as Edelgard possessed a quick wit and was not burdened by the need to fill silence with needless chatter as so many others were, but she did not particularly enjoy it either. Always, she sensed that Edelgard was judging her by some metric that she could never hope to measure up to or understand. She suspected it didn’t help either that she was much more capable in faith magic than Edelgard could ever hope to be. 

And Dimitri, well, Dimitri was beginning to grow on her, but she was hard-pressed to identify why that was. Their conversations were stilted, as most of her conversations with anyone but her father and Sothis were, and the sessions were atrocious. It was no understatement to say faith magic was certainly not his specialty. 

When she’d asked him why he had even signed up for such a class in the first place, he’d told her it was standard procedure, that all students were expected to demonstrate a basic understanding of faith magic in order to graduate. She had only nodded and tried not to feel exceedingly stupid at his matter-of-fact tone. Of course, a basic understanding of faith magic was expected of all students; they lived in a church for Goddess’ sake. 

And Dimitri did have a basic understanding, but Manuela claimed he had “potential” for something greater. Whatever that something greater may have been, it wasn’t a proficiency in faith magic. But Byleth made do, giving him pointers on form and pronunciations when needed. According to Manuela, he was showing major improvement in class, though Dimitri attested otherwise. 

Now, as he accompanied her to her father’s lecture from their lesson, even though she had assured him she was perfectly capable of walking alone, he said, “It comes so naturally to you it is hard to believe you were raised outside the church.”

What did he expect her to say? She had never been much good at small talk, actively avoiding it when she could, and it was simply poor luck that Sothis had decided to take a snooze shortly after her session with Dimitri had begun. Normally, she pointedly stayed awake for the sessions, claiming she enjoyed hearing the voices of someone other than Byleth and her father. 

Sothis was also nosy, pushing Byleth to ask Dimitri and the others about drama around the monastery. Though she never did and had no intention to ever, Sothis had yet to take the hint. But, despite the nuisance of her pestering, it was uncomfortably quiet without the hum of the girl’s presence as Byleth muttered, “We traveled with a healer for a time.”

Dimitri nodded. 

“Ah, that explains it then. You must be a fast learner.” 

Byleth could think of nothing more to add. Thankfully, the classroom was only a few short paces away and she hastened her stride to reach it. When she slunk into the room and made her way to her usual haunt, her father’s stare was unnerving. As she leaned against the far wall, crossing her arms and exuding nonchalance as her father had taught her, Dimitri hunkered into his seat with a bustling of paper and a screeching of chair while the other students whispered amongst themselves. If Sothis were awake, Byleth might have found herself embarrassed. 

“Nice of you to join us, your highness,” her father said, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. A snicker echoed as Dimitri stood and offered a hasty bow to her father. 

“My apologies, professor. I lost track of time during my session with Byleth.”

Byleth could not miss the _get-a-load-of-this-guy_ look her father sent her way as he said, “Uh, right.”

Judging by the snickers, the rest of the class hadn’t missed it either. Dimitri sat down so quickly he could have been shot with an arrow. As her father began his stumbling, monotone lecture about the importance of keeping a sharp sword, Byleth rubbed at her eyes. Dimitri was sweet, but, as Sothis had said, a bit of a mess. From their time together, she had gotten the impression that he was a stickler for tradition and decorum, two things that were certainly antiquated in the hustle and bustle of the modern era. In fact, all the students from Faerghus, or at least the nobles, she had encountered in her father’s class seemed rather stiff and overly formal. In her eavesdropping, she had only ever heard them refer to Dimitri as “your highness” and some spoke extensively of chivalry and courtesy: two words she had only ever read about.

Then again, her dealings in Faerghus had been few. Her father had often claimed it was too stuffy a place to offer any contracts of value. 

As her thoughts grew swollen with such nebulous thoughts, her eyelids fluttered and she yawned. Sothis had kept her up half the night scouring the monastery’s library for any information about some place called Zanado after an internet search had proven fruitless. Despite the numerous books Byleth read on the subject, Zanado, so far, had proven to be nothing but a big, dumb canyon. But Sothis insisted that there was something more to it than being a big, dumb canyon. She claimed the big, dumb canyon could explain just what she was doing in Byleth’s head. So, Byleth persisted and allowed the girl to squawk over a bunch of rocks into the early morning before sneaking back into her assigned room so that the morning patrol wouldn’t find her.

“So, yeah. Write about that,” her father said, drawing her from her sleepy thoughts and bringing his convoluted lecture to an early close. 

As the students fumbled to pull out paper and pens, Byleth shook her head. Her father was a great man with a plethora of valuable experiences and teachings, but a professor he was not. She knew many of the students thought he should be removed from his position and she was inclined to agree, both to be free of Garreg Mach and of her father’s horrible lectures.

“Professor—”

Edelgard stood from her seat at the front of the class. Around her, the shuffle of organizing students fell silent. 

“I believe I speak for the class when I say, this is meant to be an applied course, yet we have been given nothing to apply. Should you not be demonstrating your skill for us?”

Byleth scowled. It was pure arrogance to reproach her father in such a way, even if he absolutely deserved it. Her father seemed to feel the same way, ignoring Edelgard completely and asking the class, “Do you all feel that way?”

There was a grumbled agreement and hung heads. 

“Alright then. Get up.”

And then he strode out the door as the class watched in horror. Byleth followed after him to the sound of the class scrambling to gather their things and follow. 

“I hope you’ve been keeping up with your training,” her father said. 

She nodded curtly and he said, “Good. Let’s show these brats a thing or two.”

“My pleasure,” she said, inspiring a deep-belly laugh from her father that erupted out of him in such a way that a nearby flock of doves exploded from their perches on the eaves above. Byleth smiled. The day was starting to take a turn for the better.

* * *

Sothis awoke to a shout of exertion and the tang of sweat. A large boy, broad and blonde, grappled hand to hand with Byleth, towering over her and nearly blocking out the sun. Bearing down on Byleth, his muscles practically bulged through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Sothis cried, taking form just beside the monstrous boy. As soon as she did, she slapped her hands over her mouth. The boy _stunk_ like the bloated fish carcasses Byleth so enjoyed deboning. 

_Teaching,_ Byleth responded and Sothis could feel the woman's gritted teeth as if they were inside her own mouth. 

“Teaching?” Sothis repeated, her voice near shrill from the exasperation of it all. Then, when she looked around and saw Jeralt perched on the arena wall and the throng of students watching with bright eyes and wet mouths, she huffed. 

“Ah, I see! This is one of your father’s games, is it not?”

Byleth did not respond. She shoved back against the boy until he gave ground and stumbled. Then, she jabbed him in the neck so that he gagged and fell over onto his bottom. As Jeralt whooped, Sothis wrung her wrists. She detested violence, yet it came so freely to Byleth. 

“Who’s next?” Byleth asked with an inkling of victory adding an edge to her monotone voice. She rolled her arm in a windmilling motion as if winding up to pitch a ball. It was the most Sothis had ever seen her gloat. Well, except maybe when they had found nothing on Zanado in the library, just like Byleth had said they would.

Overhead, the sun was blinding. Another student, the purple-haired nuisance from Leicester, stepped into the ring, a lance sprouting from each hand. He tossed one to Byleth, who caught it deftly, and then turned to his fellow students and said, “Observe how a noble fights.”

A few cheers from the students made Sothis roll her eyes. 

“How annoying!” she said, but Byleth ignored her and began her charge. Before the Leicester boy had even turned around, Byleth swept his legs out from underneath him and left him sprawled in the dirt with the tip of a lance pressed ever-so-slightly into his chest. 

Sothis huffed. It was bad enough to be stuck inside Byleth’s quiet head, but another thing entirely to be _ignored_ inside Byleth’s quiet head. So, Sothis leaned back, crossed her arms, and settled into a stormy pout. 

Another boy, red-haired and arrogant, stepped forward, but he was shoved aside by a dour-faced boy with a drawn sword. He flung a sword at Byleth’s feet and rushed her as she bent to pick it up. If Sothis did not know Byleth’s mind as she knew her own, she might have been worried, but she could feel the peaked attention at the base of her skull. Byleth would sooner die than be bested by a student. 

Somewhere, deep inside her chest, Sothis could feel the strain of Byleth’s fight, pulling her muscles long and sore. Sometimes, she doubted her own existence, especially when Byleth’s aggression ran red and wild within her. 

Shouts of the boy’s name, _Felix,_ rang from the crowd, but they were short-lived. Byleth teetered out of the way and brought her sword up to meet him. The clang resonated through her arm and up Sothis’ so that Sothis' teeth rang and her vision blurred. Sothis clutched her head, squeezing at her skull to stop the ringing, but it wouldn’t stop. It kept ringing and ringing and ringing and when it finally settled into a hum, there _was a field of lilies, encircled by a ring of trees, and the sweet smell of fresh hay. The clouds up in the sky were puffed and bucolic like a child’s drawing. Butterflies colored the lilies with wings dappled with the rainbow. From the trees, birds sang full-chested love songs. The world felt new and warm and welcoming, fresh from the womb of the cosmos, but Sothis felt old. On the ground was a shadow, her shadow, stretched tall and long towards the horizon. When she sighed, the lilies bent and the butterflies quivered, but the birdsongs continued, stronger and brighter than before._

_From the hollow between two trees, a child emerged, a girl. Two braids of jade-colored hair hung over her shoulders in stark contrast to the pale smock she wore. The girl ran through the field, crushing lilies underfoot and sending the butterflies whirling up into the sky. Sothis’ heart ached, though she did not know why._

_The girl stopped just before Sothis, standing in the shade of her shadow. Up close, Sothis could see the splatter of freckles that dusted her cheeks and nose, the mosaic of green swirling in her eyes, and the delicate point of her ears. The girl flashed a smile of milk-teeth. The smell of death was about her._

_"_ _Mother,” the girl said. “I’ve killed a rabbit.”_

_And Sothis could see the rabbit’s small, velvety body curled around itself, blood staining the ground beneath it, could smell the dead, rotting scent of it as the fat sloughed from its skeleton and the bone-beetles scuttled in to feast._

_The girl reached for her, hands grasping like the tentacles of the things that lurked in the sea. There were flecks of blood over her fingers._

_“Come look,” the girl said. “Come look.”_

_But Sothis could not. The bloodlust of the girl curdled her stomach, irritated the new life that grew within. And the girl wilted. Her hands fell away and her face fell fully into shadow and—_

A snap brought Sothis back to the arena, back to Byleth. Everything was much the same as it had once been, though the sour Felix had been replaced by the golden Dimitri and Byleth held splinters in her fist rather than a weapon. On the ground lay the shattered remains of two lances, one exploded into bits of wood and the other snapped in two. 

Dimitri sputtered, but Byleth struck with her fists and feet until the princeling had fallen back without defending himself. Byleth swiped the still-sharp half of the lance from the ground and held it to his jugular. His throat bobbed and Sothis saw not the boy, but the rabbit and not Byleth, but the girl and she pounded at her temples until the world righted itself. And her head spun and she felt she might be sick if she could be sick, but she was solidly there in reality, not wherever she had been. 

As Dimitri scrambled to his feet and Byleth tossed the busted lance aside, she asked, _Where did you go?_

Sothis shook her head and pressed a knuckle to her mouth.

“I do not know. There was a field and a girl and… I do not know.”

Byleth’s thoughts buzzed, shifting through colors and sounds and images, but they did not form into any sort of response. Sothis took to rubbing her temples again. She could not recall the image of the field or the girl in any great detail, but the entire scene was etched in crude line onto the backs of her eyelids. 

So, Sothis did not close her eyes and looked to the horde of students. Judging by the downtrodden looks on most of their faces, Byleth had defeated a great number of them during her jaunt… wherever it was she had gone. Only Claude and Edelgard remained, two of the students Sothis found the most interesting. There was simply too much weight on their shoulders for there _not_ to be something juicy going on behind the scenes. 

Edelgard stepped into the ring, ax glinting in hand, and said, “I would have you fight me as an equal.” 

If her head did not hurt so much, Sothis might have laughed. Fighting Byleth as an equal was practically wishing to be decapitated. 

Byleth did not relax her stance and Edelgard did not approach, standing just over the white ring of the arena’s bounds. Her smile was haughty and her eyes shrewd. It was a fine expression for her cold features, Sothis thought, but it made her seem all the more severe.

“You are not right-handed,” Edelgard said.

From the wall, Jeralt chuckled while Claude shouted from the crowd, “Damn it Edelgard! You stole my big reveal!”

Sothis scowled. She looked to Byleth and saw that indeed, she fought with her non-dominant hand. But Sothis hadn’t even noticed. What was happening to her?

Whether Byleth noticed her turmoil or not, she only shrugged and took up a discarded ax with her left hand. With her right hand, she beckoned Edelgard forward and the future-empress charged. 

It didn’t last long. They traded two blows before Byleth sent Edelgard sprawling unceremoniously in the dirt. Edelgard lay there for a moment, blinking, slow and doe-like, while Byleth only watched. Sothis couldn’t bare to, the stink of death was all about the future emperor. 

“Next?” Byleth asked, still watching Edelgard wheeze. Sothis feared the return of the girl and the rabbit, but they did not reappear. They stayed buried within the subconscious they had sprung from. 

"I think I’ll sit this one out,” Claude said, stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ve seen enough to know I won’t win.” 

There were a few shouts of outrage, but it was the first time Sothis had agreed with anything that had been said or done since she’d woken up. Claude was smart, much smarter than all the rest. 

“Good choice, nobody can best my kid,” Jeralt said, leaping from his perch. Byleth smiled and rubbed at her neck. Normally, she wasn’t quite so emotive, but her father’s praise always worked a special kind of magic on her. It was a sweet relationship the two had, even if Byleth wasn’t willing to admit it. 

A murmuring arose from the mass of disgraced students and immediately, Byleth swallowed her smile, smoothening the dimples from her cheeks and draining the levity from her eyes until all the fluttering happiness was gone. Sothis rolled her eyes. 

“It would not kill you to show a little humanity every once in a while.”

Byleth’s thoughts twisted, tempestuous, before settling back into mute static. As always, her face revealed nothing. She only stared straight ahead and didn’t seem to notice the heavy stares of the amassed students. 

“Alright, well, you all have a lot of work. By barely broke a sweat,” Jeralt said. 

Again, there was the bait of a smile, but Byleth didn’t bite and just stood there like a hunk of marble brought to life while her father mused her hair. Sothis’ heart twinged. In moments like there, it was near impossible to ignore the effect of her presence on Byleth. Whatever the girl was, whatever she couldn’t feel, Sothis knew it was her fault, even if she wasn’t sure how. 

“Professor Jeralt,” one intrepid student tried, but Jeralt, smiling wide in a way that didn’t entirely meet his eyes, announced, “Class dismissed.” 

Gradually, the students dispersed, some walking off with groups of friends, others trailing away with forlorn glances back at Byleth. Once they were all gone, Jeralt sighed.

“Alright kiddo, Rhea wants me to meet with her. Grab me some grub from the dining hall?”

Byleth only nodded and began to dig through her sweaty pockets. She didn’t notice the twinge in her father's brow or the quiver of his mouth into a frown. Byleth never noticed the small ticks in her father’s face. She never noticed the hesitation in his voice. And she certainly never noticed the way his sad eyes watched after her. But Sothis did. Sothis always noticed.

So, as Byleth put in headphones and began to blare harsh rhythms and vocals that would have given Sothis a headache if she didn’t already have one, Sothis watched Jeralt’s face fall, just a little and did her best to think of things other than a girl with bloodstained hands in a solemn woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, this chapter went through a lot of rewrites so it looks very different than it did. This is off to a slow start (I had the chapters ready, but then I decided to add in the Sothis POV stuff and that changed... a lot), but I'm REALLY excited.  
> As always, I hope y'all enjoy and lemme know what you think. Also, I'm on Tumblr and Twitter (brand spanking new yay!) @CazBunnyWrites! Fun fun fun! :p

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN LMAO  
> Basically, I really love the Academy phase, but I don't LoVe the idea of Byleth as a professor because she's basically a child/teenager herself and what qualifications does she have? Do you not need an education to teach at the most prestigious academy in Fodlan? Huh Rhea??? Huh????  
> I also really want to explore the dynamic between Byleth & the students on more equal footing because I feel that its a completely different story when she's in a position of respect and authority. And of course Dimitri. Because I am a fool for Dimileth.  
> The more modern aspects will come in with the war phase because that's when Byleth will be out in the world and whatnot, but, for now, enjoy Byleth's text conversations with her father and numerous references to her shitty taste in music lol.  
> Also, Sothis is much harder to work into the story than I thought ;-;  
> I've just had this idea buzzing around in my head since the game came out and I just really want to explore it!!!! I hope y'all enjoy and, as always lemme know what you think!


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